


Ewigkeit

by sunflowerbright



Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Character Death, M/M, Reincarnation!fic, one-sided alfred/sarah since it follows the musical for the first part of the story, this pairing just won't let me go again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerbright/pseuds/sunflowerbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Reincarnation!AU where Alfred and Herbert were lovers when Herbert was still human, but then Alfred died and Herbert became a vampire, and about a thousand year later in Transylvania, daddy brings home a surprise</i>
</p><p>DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> how do I always end up writing reincarnation fic....

_It’s cold outside, but in his dream, Alfred is warm._ _Whether it’s the sun shining down on him, from high above, or the warm body pressed against his back, he does not know. It does not really matter either – the arm slung over his waist is heavy, and there is warm breath tickling his ear, but he has never felt this comfortable before. The person behind him is sleeping, and he knows, whoever it is, that they are not a stranger, and that he is safe with them. They’re stirring now, coming out of their sleep, and the arm is pressing him closer, to a broad, warm chest, a mouth moving over his ear, whispering his name…_

Alfred woke up _freezing_ because they were in the middle of nowhere, and middle of nowhere was apparently colder than the coldest parts of Dante’s hell. He shivered, dragging his clothes tighter around him, suddenly realising he was alone in the barn they had found to inhabit for the night.

_Oh no._  

This was not what he had envisioned, when he had gone with the Professor to Transylvania – he had known, of course, that it would be cold, and difficult and dangerous (if the Professor’s theories were true), but Alfred knew that he had not signed up for being a babysitter when he had said yes to this job.

It didn’t help that those dreams – odd dreams, dreams he’d been having all of his life that somehow seemed connected, even though he knew, logically, that it was just his mind making things up – had become more and more vivid, the closer they got to their destination. Alfred thought maybe it was his own mind rebelling, his anxieties and worries coming to the forefront in his sleep. He’d asked the Professor, but the man had been distracted and had never given him a proper answer, except to warn him of the kind of ideas one could get from dreams: and how nightmares were often sent by the devils they were hunting down in this very moment.

Which left him with nothing but confusion, really, and more dreams of warmth and this _laugh_ , full and throaty and there because of him. It was silly, to be infatuated with something his mind had conjured up, but for the longest time, those dreams had given Alfred comfort were nothing else could. He could not say, discontenting as it sometimes was, that he was unhappy about the current frequency and authentic feel of the dreams. Quite the opposite.

But there was no time to think of those dreams now: Alfred had to find the professor, and get them to safety. Hopefully there was a town nearby – Alfred thought he had seen smoke, as if coming from chimneys in the distance, before the storm had begun. If he could only get them to the village, then they would be safe.

*

Herbert was ridiculously bored, and it didn’t help that Father had left for the night, to pick up _‘something for the ball’_. Or at least, that’s what he said. For all Herbert knew, he could be wandering the woods again, all solemn and mournful, staring at the sky above: Herbert didn’t care, because apparently his father didn’t _want to tell him_. So he was sulking in the library instead, except not even that was particularly amusing when no-one was around to see it. At least not amusing enough to keep him entertained for long.

His mind helpfully supplied him with several things he could go and do to vile away the time, but his boredom right now seemed all-consumed and all-encompassing, and getting up from his spot was such a hassle.

It wasn’t long, however, before his mind started slipping, and with nothing to distract himself with, it turned to thoughts of warm smiles and soft hair, and golden skin bathed in sunlight. Herbert shut his eyes tightly, lingering for just a moment – he would be regretting it, he knew, because in just a few seconds the pain would come, but for now he could soak in memories and pretend they didn’t simply have to be that.

With the pain came the sound of his father returning, however, and Herbert leaped out of his chair, happy for the distraction, and for the fact that, well, Father was home, which was always a good thing.

“So, how’s the scenery?” he asked, keeping his voice drawling and uninterested. He was leaning against the wall, studying his nails for extra effect.

Father was strangely silent, and it made Herbert look up in surprise, meeting his dark gaze. And then he smiled.

“It went well,” he said, eyes glinting, and oh no, this had to mean that… “I met a lovely, young woman.”

Herbert rolled his eyes and huffed. “Of course you did.” Really. “So you’ll be bringing her to the ball?” Father was always doing this, going out and finding prey and finding the strangest creatures to bring home. Last year it had been a woman with blonde curls who had cried as soon as she had set foot inside the castle. Herbert hoped, for Father’s sake as well, that this new one would be a little more… adventurous.

“Yes, I do believe she is coming,” Father said, and Herbert was already losing interest. “And another thing: at the ball, or perhaps even before, there will be… a surprise for you.”

Now _that_ got his attention. Especially because Father was sounding overtly _smug_ now.

“What kind of surprise?” he asked, pitching forward and only just stopping himself from grasping at his father’s arm. His smile turned even wider.

“Now, Herbert, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it.”

“Well, is it a new seamstress, or did you invite more people?” Herbert was practically jumping on the spot, but oh, he couldn’t help it: his boredom had been completely driven out of his mind now, but it wasn’t _fair_ of Father to tease him so! “From the village? Or is Lady Catherine coming? Do I know them? Are they boys – are they _cute_?”

His father just smiled that wide, infuriating smile at him. “You will just have to wait and see.”

“Oh, you can’t do this to me!” Herbert pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are being unreasonably cruel, _papa_.”

There was a flicker of something in his father’s eyes, but his smile didn’t diminish. “I am fairly certain you will be thanking me later. Have some patience, Herbert.”

“You never taught me that,” he huffed again, turning around to walk away with the last word.

Of course, he returned to Father’s side later, begging for more details, but the man remained as elusive in his answer as always, apparently determined that Herbert’s surprise should stay surprising, no matter how mad it was driving his son.

Still, it chased away a lot of the boredom, as Herbert spent the next hours of the night either begging his father for answers, or thinking up different scenarios for the ball, now an event he looked forward to much more than he had this evening, when it had still been just a chance for Father to show off the next frilly he found.

Said girl arrived just the next night, a small, brown-eyed thing that blinked at Herbert like she didn’t even see him, which suited him fine: it did however, mean that Father was distracted, especially when it turned out that the girl’s father had set chase after her. Poor fool. He was left in the forest, bled dry and Herbert could go back to picking out an outfit for the ball, a task that was now much more difficult in the face of Father’s _surprise_. He had to look appropriate, not to mention dazzling, for the occasion, and since he wasn’t sure what the occasion _was_ , well, that made for one distracting and all-consuming task.

But it could only take so long for him to pick out what he would look best in – he was _him_ , after all, he looked good in everything – and that meant more boredom soon followed, like a tide that simply wouldn’t stop washing over him. There was the sound of the girl Father had brought him, singing in the hallways, and while the sound wasn’t unpleasant, it _was_ annoying, causing Herbert to become even more jittery and impatient.

He knew this mood: knew it too well. It hit often, even after all these years. He’d become unable to sit still, but unable to walk or pace or run as well, and his mind would not be able to focus on anything except the very thing he wished the most to forget.

And then his father called for him, looking out the window in the hall with a strange smile on his face.

“We have company,” he said, and Herbert felt a jolt of excitement.

“Is it my surprise?” he asked, grinning widely, and ran up beside him to look.

It was dark, and stormy, the snow whirling through the air like it so often did up here, obscuring most from view. But Herbert was a vampire, and he could see.

And what he saw made his heart, unbeating for centuries, jump in shock.

“No.”

Father placed a hand on his shoulder, a steady weight that seemed the only reason he didn’t shrivel into ash in that very moment.

“Herbert…” he said, voice gentle, and Herbert got angry.

“That’s not _possible_.”

“Herbert, it’s him. I am sure of it,” and oh, he sounded sure, calm and steady like Father always was ( _almost_ always, often enough that ‘always’ counted as a substitute in Herbert’s mind), and Herbert shook, with fear or anticipation, he did not know.

“Do you promise?” he asked, voice small.

“I watched him grow from a child into a young man. He was my student – I know him. I promise you, Herbert. It’s him.”

And it _was_. Centuries had not made Herbert forget his face, no matter how many times he might have tried, just to diminish the pain a tad (it wouldn’t have worked anyway), and he’d have recognised him anywhere, at any time. He had simply never thought he would have the chance. He _shouldn’t_ have had the chance.

“I…” for once, he was at a loss for words. Father removed his hand, and Herbert immediately felt off-kilter, only regaining his balance when the boy outside turned around, looking up at the castle, the moon shining down to illuminate his face.

“I will go out to greet them. Take your time.”

_Thank you_ , Herbert wanted to say, but he couldn’t form the words. He watched for a few moments more, before the boy disappeared from sight again, walking to the main gate with his companion. Herbert stared after him for a long while, before some semblance of calm settled over him.

And then he suddenly _needed_ to get down there, needed to be closer. If he ran in his haste, well, Herbert was fairly certain that no-one would blame him, considering that his old lover had seemingly come back from the dead, centuries after having been lost to him.


	2. Part Two

_His lover is whispering something in his ear, and he’s hiding his face in his hands, muffling his laughter, not helped on by the tickling of his breath against his skin. He’s safe here – he’s warm and loved. He never wants to leave._

Alfred wished more than ever now, that he had never gone with the Professor in the first place. This dark and dank castle was worse than the cold snow outside, was worse than the fear he had felt when the Professor had needed his help with Chagal. The only thing keeping him from not turning around and running back to the village at epic speed, was the thought that they had to get Sarah out. They had to save her. From a castle inhabited by a vampire.

“And this,” the Count was saying, gesturing behind him. “Is my son, Herbert.”

A castle inhabited by _two_ vampires, it would seem. How typical.

It didn’t help that the Count’s son wouldn’t stop _staring_ at him, looking for all the world like the cat that got the canary, and wasn’t _that_ a mental image to send shivers down his spine. No matter which way Alfred moved, it seemed like Herbert remained right beside him. Alfred wondered if vampires needed to blink – he wasn’t sure this one had since he came outside, at all. Of course it would end up like this, the Count distracted by the Professor, and the Professor distracted by the Count, while Alfred was expected to entertain a bored vampire that would probably eat him in a matter of seconds. It had his heart racing in fear, and he was sure that Herbert could hear it, because his smile turned wider, and his eyes turned darker.

Alfred let out a terrified squeak and did his best not to run off in the other direction. He had to help Sarah – he had to _save_ Sarah, from these two _vampires,_ and running away wouldn’t do any good. It’d probably be like running from any predator, he thought: it would simply give chase.

Oh god in the sky above, he really did not want to know what would happen if Herbert or his father suddenly gave chase.  

Finally, they were allowed a reprieve – invited inside, out of the cold and into… well, as he had already mused on, Alfred thought he would have preferred the cold. Herbert hovered for a beat of a minute, before the Count muttered something to him, in a language Alfred didn’t understand, and he suddenly turned sharply on his heels, disappearing down the corridor. It was discontenting, suddenly having the vampire gone, and Alfred didn’t even have time to breathe a sigh of relief before he and the Professor was being ushered into the guest rooms, ready to tuck in for the night.

*

Walking away from Alfred was perhaps the hardest thing Herbert had ever had to do, but his father’s observation that he was frightening the boy made sense. If there was anything he didn’t wish to do, it was frighten Alfred: but it was just so hard to stay away. A part of him was sure that, as soon as he looked the other way, Alfred would disappear into thin air, as if he had never been there to begin with. The thought was enough to make pain bloom in his chest, and oh, it wasn’t fair that he should have been alive this long, that he should have spent centuries without Alfred, only to have him back in a matter of minutes and already feel like he was being skinned, slowly, layers peeling away until he was raw and vulnerable. And all the while, Alfred simply wouldn’t look at him – seemed intent on everything else instead, when Herbert was standing _right there_ , basically begging for his attention like some starving dog for food. He would have scoffed at himself if it hadn’t been because Alfred was there, standing right in front of him, very much alive.

Very, _very_ much alive. His pulse had been a steady drumbeat in his neck, his heart joining in at the same pace. It made Herbert’s mouth water to think about it now, and he had to stop in the hallway, pressing his hand against his lips, feeling the prick of his fangs that had come out without his willing, just at the mere thought of tasting Alfred like that. He felt embarrassed: it had been many years since he had learned to control his impulses, and even though he often chose _not_ to do that, he was still old enough to know when to pull in his fangs.

It seemed not any number of years could change the effect Alfred had on him. He’d looked _healthy_ too, cheeks flushing from the cold wind outside, his shoulders hunched in fright and his eyes bright with fear, but there had been a sinewy strength to his limbs, just like Herbert had remembered, and his mouth had been set in a determined line.

Oh, his mouth. Would it feel the same, he wondered, kissing Alfred now. It had been a favourite pastime of his, back before, kissing Alfred until the boy was breathless and reeling slightly. He would always smile so softly at Herbert when they finally pulled apart, like he had given him something much more precious than just a few kisses. He used to curl his fingers in the front of his shirt, or in his hair, a light hold as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to cling. It was fine: Herbert would admit that he could easily cling for the both of them, and had done so happily many times over. Perhaps it truly was pathetic, but Herbert would take as much as a smile right now, anything, _anything_ that Alfred would give him.

With that in mind, he pulled away from the wall he had been leaning against, and turned back around. Perhaps, Alfred’s mind would offer more answers than Herbert’s own confused thoughts.

He was not even halfway to sleep when Herbert got there, but that was easy enough to remedy: the professor was snoring loudly, and Alfred’s drowsy eyes only just settled on him, not even having time to register, before Herbert had pulled him in. His mouth gaped open slightly, and his eyes blinked slowly, as if even that action took immense amounts of energy. Herbert smiled at him, and reached out to touch his shoulder gently.

Being in Alfred’s head was…

Intoxicating.

And strange. Herbert had never thought he would get such an opportunity, and more importantly, he hadn’t thought he would exercise it, even had Alfred… well. Been around.

The invasion was not so much for the sake of it, however, but more to discern what was actually going on. It had been clear that Alfred did not have any memory of him: he’d looked at Herbert like one looked at a lion lying on the ground in front of you, completely perplexed as to what it was doing there, and frightened at the possible answer to that very question. Alfred would have never looked at him like that _before_ : he had known that he was safe, with Herbert, that he would _always_ be safe with him.

This Alfred was scared. It was almost ridiculous, how little Herbert had to nudge the dreams on, the boy’s mind already creating the shapes and figures of the nightmare – he was as much in control of it as Herbert was, except he had no notion of it.

Herbert hadn’t even meant for it to be a nightmare: a slightly surreal dream, yes, to dredge up memories that might be locked tightly away, to discern what this Alfred was like, and what he was doing here – who his companion was, and what said companion might do as well. And to find out what, exactly, the girl meant to Alfred.

Thus far, Herbert didn’t like what he was seeing at all. He knew it was petty, but damn if he cared – in the course of the dream, his indifference towards the girl that father had brought home, quickly turned to pure, seething jealousy. It was _clear_ that she didn’t care one whit for Alfred, or she would have never left him (how anyone could was beyond Herbert), but the boy was just as clearly infatuated with her, beyond seeing reason. It simply wasn’t _fair_ , that Alfred should look at her like that, and not Herbert, especially considering he had known her for only about a day more than he had known him.

Which wasn’t even true – Alfred had known him, for years before, known him in and out and better than anyone else save perhaps Father. For years Herbert had been the one to fall asleep beside him, and wake up again with the smaller boy curled into his arms, had been the one to kiss him and make him laugh and blush. Not Sarah, or anyone else.

All of that seemed to matter very little when it was clear that Alfred did not remember a single thing of his previous life. It broke Herbert’s heart all over again, and the frustration made him realise too late exactly how frightened the dream was making Alfred, and oh, it was really getting out of hand now. Herbert reached out a hand to soothe the mirror image, but the blood-splattered boy whirled around, snapping at him in fury, and he withdrew immediately, startled in a way he hadn’t been for many centuries.

He didn’t recognise the boy in front of him, and he had to take a few seconds to remind himself that it was simply a dream: a pale reflection of the Alfred sleeping restlessly on the bed, now tossing and turning. Herbert suddenly had to see him: see the whole, breathing boy and not this thing he himself had helped conjure. He made the nightmare end as suddenly as it had begun.

Alfred had moved to the end of the bed, a crucifix clutched tightly in his hands. Herbert walked close enough to touch, but didn’t let himself, tempting as it was. His hair looked so soft – was it the same texture as Herbert remembered, or was it different, in this form?

Did he just _look_ the same, and nothing else of his old lover remained? Could this Alfred even love him?

Herbert drew back sharply, walking away just as the sun rose in the distance. He heard Alfred’s gasp as he woke up, echoing through the halls. He sounded frightened, and Herbert wanted nothing more than to go back in there and pull him into his arms, keep him safe.

But the sun shone down and blocked his path, and he had to stay in the shadows.


	3. Part Three

 

_He felt like he was on fire. There was a sharp pain coming from his neck, spreading poison throughout his veins, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the burn of the bite. He was dying. He was dying, and the shouting around him was only a faint sound, coming from far away, and then he was being released and he was falling to the floor, except the grey fog lifted just enough to make him realise he was being cradled. Someone was crying._

_He couldn’t breathe._

Alfred woke up with a scream stuck in his throat, his heart beating a hundred miles a minute. He’d had the most awful nightmare, and it lingered in the back of his mind, smiling widely and showing its fangs. Even with the sunlight streaming in through the large windows, Alfred still felt jittery and scared. 

And beside him, the Professor snored on, having not a care in his dreaming world. Alfred envied him that: he could not remember sleeping peacefully even for a second, and he felt tired and worn out as a result of it now. He felt, almost, like he had been opened bare, his ribs pushed back from his chest so someone could peer at his very heart. This place was getting to him more than he had anticipated, and he had already anticipated a lot. As usual, the situation was much worse than he could have ever imagined.

What could they truly do, him and the Professor, against two vampires? Alfred knew they had little hope of surviving, little hope of seeing tomorrow. But they could not let down Sarah, not now. She had to be here somewhere, hidden in the corridors and corners, and if only they could find her, then they could escape. 

And it was daylight now. As far as the research showed, the vampires never moved in daylight, and so their hosts would not be around. Hopefully. God, but Alfred couldn’t do anything but hope. 

The Professor woke up, practically ranting on even before he had opened his eyes, laying out all of his plans, and Alfred’s heart sank in his chest, when he realised what exactly the Professor had planned. 

In the end, he couldn’t do it. 

It was just that the Count looked _familiar_ , and not in a way where Alfred had seen him before, but in a way where he looked human, even pale and deadly as he was, sleeping without his chest lifting even a little. Alfred looked desperately for movement, but found none, and he couldn’t explain to himself why he was so adverse to this act: the man lying before him wasn’t alive, his son wasn’t alive, and he had taken Sarah. 

_No_ , a voice in his head that sounded like the one in his dream. _She left willingly._

He’d had her under his thrall: that’s what was going on. It had to be. How could Sarah, lovely, beautiful Sarah, be so foolish otherwise? How could she not see the danger? How could she _want_ the danger?

The Professor shouted something, and Alfred winced, sure that any moment now the two vampires would wake, see him there and all hell would rain down. Then they would be truly lost, and he wouldn’t even get a chance to see Sarah before he died. 

If they were even kind enough to let him die right away. 

They were monsters. Murderers. He’d be doing the whole world a favour by getting rid of them now. 

Alfred moved the stake away and sighed deeply, as he walked back out of the crypt. 

*

Herbert dreamt too. 

Except his dream was _pleasant,_ a fact that would later make him feel guilty for what he had inflicted on Alfred, but of course, these thoughts were far away during the recess of his sleep. 

No, in his dream, all he could focus on was the very warm, _very_ soft boy in his arms. 

“Wake up,” he whispered, and laughed when Alfred muttered something angrily under his breath, turning his face so that it was hidden in the crook of Herbert’s neck. In the dream, it didn’t matter how they had come to be in this position: it didn’t even matter that Herbert felt unnaturally warm too, almost uncomfortably so, because Alfred’s hand was placed, palm-down over his heart, as if trying to reach, and he felt calmer than he had since Simeon, since...

“Herbert, what are you doing?” Alfred sighed when his face was being turned. “Is my neck really that interesting?”

He didn’t respond right away, instead smoothing a thumb over the clean, unmarked skin. He had half expected to draw away and see blood, gushing out, Alfred’s life ending faster than he could even measure. 

For the better part of a second, he was caught in it again, that terrible moment when he had been _too late_ , and he had lost the person that mattered to him the most, but then he blinked and Alfred was smiling at him, and his mind did not yet recognise this as just a dream. 

“Are you alright?” Alfred asked, pushing a lock of hair away from Herbert’s face, his fingers trailing a path across his skin. Herbert’s eyes slid closed, savouring the touch. When the young boy inquired again, he leaned forward, pressing his mouth against Alfred’s, his fingers tightening in his hair. Alfred’s hand was still above his heart, and Herbert wondered if perhaps, he could really feel it beating again. 

He could. He _could_. It was an odd sound, an odd sensation, an odd dream to have. He had not dreamed of having a beating heart again, not even once since he had been turned. But he was dreaming it now. 

Herbert pulled away from the kiss to tell Alfred that he loved him, whisper it in his ear like he used to, as often as possible to make him never forget it, and the boy smiled back up at him, blinking as if he was confused. 

He _was_ confused, and he would be, because the Alfred now – the one in the red jacket who had come here for _someone else –_ didn’t remember Herbert ever telling him that. He remembered none of it, and suddenly, Herbert couldn’t stand it. He almost wanted to push him away, but Alfred had already leaned back in, and he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead he pulled him close, and tried to breathe evenly. 

_I want to keep you_ , he thought, burying his face in soft hair. _Please let me keep you._

It could not be real, be fair, for Herbert to have him _back_ , only to somehow be denied again. No, he wouldn’t have it. He would simply have to convince Alfred to stay, would have to find a way for him to remember. It was Alfred’s memories anyway: he deserved them back. And if Herbert ended up with the love of his life back, well, anyone that had anything to say about it would be free to say it. They simply shouldn’t expect to be able to say much more afterwards. 

He had to remind himself that he had already earned Alfred’s love once, and it may have been years ago (many years, too many to count), and it might have been a slightly different Alfred, less frightened of him from the start, younger and more open for companionship from someone his age, but it was still _Alfred_ , and Herbert was not going to let this opportunity slip away from him. Not only had Alfred been granted a second life, but some twisted path had led him right to Herbert’s doorstep, and damned if he didn’t think he had faith on his side on this one. 

And even if he hadn’t, such a thing had never stopped him before, and there was no reason that it should start so now. In his dream, Herbert clutched Alfred tighter, determination settling in him. 

“Herbert?” Alfred whispered, mouth moving against his skin, against his pulse, and Herbert smiled. 

“Yes, dear?”

“You’re holding me too tight.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said, loosening his grip only slightly. “Is that better?”

Alfred snuggled closer. “Much. Herbert…”

Herbert woke. He woke to the sound of boots against the stone-floor, trying to be quiet and failing, and he woke to a voice hushed, barking commands in a way that really wasn’t working towards the speaker’s goal of making as little noise as possible. 

It was almost amusing, being near-assassinated by his former lover who had been brought back to life centuries after his death.  Ah, yes, Herbert certainly wasn’t bored anymore, even if he sighed at the prospect of the tussle that was sure to ensure now. They did have to stop them after all: he wasn’t going to be very successful wooing Alfred if he was a pile of dust on the floor, and while he was sure Father agreed on the Professor’s being quite the nuisance, it would probably upset Alfred a great deal if they were to get rid of him. He couldn’t have that. 

And then Alfred stepped away from Father’s coffin, and walked out again, stopping his attempt before it had even truly begun. 

Herbert had to bite his own lip to keep from letting out a laugh, or a whoop, and he also had to tell himself that doing a dance while lying in his coffin truly wasn’t dignified. 

Even if it was Father who had taught him the moves. 


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late! It has not been edited properly, as I'm a little busy right now, but here you go! 
> 
> This is also the place where it starts to go kinda AU from the musical. We'll see what happens next....

 

 

_There was laughter when he entered the house, and he had not even had time to look around before he was being swept up in strong arms, pulled around at dizzying speed. He would have been frightened had it not been for the familiar smile, and the familiar body pressing against his. Oh, and the laughing was soothing and exhilarating, and he couldn’t help but return it as he let himself be spun around on the floor, wondering if these moves were even proper. He was being dipped down towards the floor, and distracted by a kiss, and_ Alfred was still laughing.

“Sarah?” Alfred stopped short, staring at the girl, and then flushed hotly and quickly looked away again: she laughed at him, and perhaps she was right to do so, because this wasn’t even the first time that he had walked in on her in the bath, but for some reason all he could think was that her laughter sounded somehow wrong. 

It was still ringing in his ears, even when he was pouring over a book about poetry, trying not to let his head get all too caught up in the pretty words: but oh, maybe now she would listen to him. Maybe, if she would simply let him kiss her, she would know, and he would know too. 

And then the laughter was back, and he followed it without even thinking about it, stumbling through the halls and calling out for Sarah, even though hers wasn’t the name in his mind. 

It was just the only name he remembered. 

Oh. It wasn’t Sarah, at all. It was Herbert, and the sight of him made Alfred stop short, and want to turn tail and run: he moved to do just that, but then the vampire laughed and called for him to stay, and Alfred’s fear made him unable to move. 

*

Herbert was a bit too excited about the fact that Alfred was there again already, smelling sweet and healthy, if a bit tired after having not rested much the other night (and he did feel guilty for that). Still, there were things to take his mind off of that. 

Usually, he would have liked to have a _bit_ more time to plan all of this, especially considering the gravity of the situation, but the ball was tonight, and no doubt, Alfred and his Professor planned to whisk Sarah away there at the latest: they couldn’t afford anything else, or they’d have another undead creature on their hands. So, not much time for planning, and a burning need to act. 

Herbert had never been a very patient person. 

“Father is so very excited about having you here.” Ah yes, _Father_ was. Well, it wasn’t really a lie. Father’s excitement was potentially only rivalled by Herbert’s own, but perhaps an unfair advantage lay in the both of them being the only ones to know what was truly going on. Which begged the question: what should he tell Alfred?

Surely, part of having him stay was making him _realise_ that he needed to?

“I think we should become friends.” It wasn’t the first time he had spoken those words to Alfred, and they left his tongue with an almost bitter tinge, that thankfully did not show in his demeanour at all. Not that Alfred would have noticed. The boy’s heart was beating out a gallop and he was staring straight ahead, tense under Herbert’s hands. He removed them, pretending he’d been planning to do that all along: it wouldn’t do to scare Alfred more than he already was. That was the last thing Herbert wanted. 

“I… I should…”

He was _leaving,_ ready to run away, and the panic that coursed through Herbert at that was so vivid he immediately reached out again, grasping hold of Alfred’s jacket. 

“No,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “No, you should stay.”

Alfred gulped audibly, his eyes darting to and fro, and oh, what was he doing?

“A-alright.” He said, and he looked pale now, like he was half expecting to have his throat ripped out at any moment. Herbert steeled himself, loosening his grip only slightly: he didn’t want Alfred to try and run away again, but he didn’t think keeping him as a prisoner would do much for his amicable state of mind. 

He smiled, soft and gentle, reminding himself that this was Alfred, and soon enough, he would remember, and the fear would be all gone. 

“What are you reading?” he asked, reaching out to follow the shape of the book’s spine with his finger. To his great amusement, Alfred instinctively pulled it out of his reach, clutching the book tightly to him. 

“A… a book.”

Herbert laughed. “Yes, I can see that.”

“It’s… it’s poetry, it was in your library.”

“ _Poetry?”_ oh, he was getting too excited now. “Ah, you’re in _love_.” His smile turned even wider, and he firmly ignored the sting that was trying to remind him exactly who Alfred was thinking of when reading poetry right now. That would change soon enough. “But that is simply _excellent_ , darling.”

“I-it is?” Alfred was inching a little away now, but there was only so far he could go when Herbert still had a hold on him. Really, this was ridiculous: he felt like a cat restraining a mouse. A delectable, delicious mouse at that. 

Huh. Apparently licking his lips did not do wonders for Alfred’s fear. He would have to control himself better, at least until Alfred _understood_ and wasn’t so scared anymore. It wasn’t like he was going to attack him any minute now. He wasn’t so uncivilized.

_Perhaps death will bring back his memories._

The thought echoed through his mind like a shout thrown between walls, settling deep, and oh, it was so _tempting,_ but it was a theory based on nothing but speculation, and he could not risk it. No matter how lovely the veins in Alfred’s neck looked. He reached out and caressed his throat, running the back of his fingers along the pulse, feeling it beat against his skin. Alfred was warm and alive beside him, and it was almost too much to handle. 

“Yes,” he said, not moving his hand away, because Alfred’s skin was softer than silk and it had been _too long_ since he had had the chance to feel it. “You see, I am in love as well.”

“Y-you a-are?”

Herbert was sure his smile shoved a bit too many teeth, and Alfred’s heart sounded uneven in its rhythm, but he simply could not help it. “It seems we are kindred spirits, in that,” he said, and Alfred physically recoiled. 

It was like a slap to the face, a stark reminder that this Alfred saw him as nothing but a monster, and Herbert’s hurt at the notion turned into an ugly thing in his chest. His grip on Alfred’s arm tightened, and the smile slipped off his face. Alfred looked terrified. 

“Don’t leave,” he said, and it did not come out menacing, but almost pleading, not that Herbert would _ever_ admit to that: Alfred’s fear melted away, and he stared at Herbert in utter shock. 

He had to gather himself. He had to stop himself, so that he did not see a smiling, young boy, recognising him and _seeing_ him, because the Alfred before him right now was confused, and scared and did not know what was going on. He had come here to battle monsters and save a young lady, and not for Herbert at all. He would not do _anything_ for Herbert, not even should he ask, not even should he beg, perhaps. 

Herbert wanted to beg: it was low, and pathetic, but he wanted to cling and whisper in Alfred’s ear, and beg him to stay, if only a little while longer. 

If only forever. 

“I-I s-should be… the P-pro-professor is waiting for me and…”

Herbert shifted his grip, lifting Alfred’s arm to inspect the bruise he had left. He frowned at it, marring dark and blue already. He hadn’t meant to do that: hadn’t meant to hurt him. 

“My apologies,” he said. “I forget how easily humans bruise.” He ran his thumb lightly over the marks, and Alfred shivered. 

“H-humans…” Alfred repeated after him, and now there was a hard glint in his eyes. “Because…”

Herbert’s eyes flashed, and this time, there were fangs in his grin. Alfred’s eyes turned round, his mouth gaping open in shock. “You clever boy.”

“P-please let go of me,” he said, and Herbert did, delighted when Alfred did not immediately turn tail and run. He drew his arm to him, rubbing it and not once taking his eyes off Herbert, as if afraid he would pounce as soon as he looked the other way. 

As exciting as that thought was, Herbert knew that he should probably restrain himself. For now. 

He reached down and picked up the book which Alfred had dropped without either of them noticing: he rifled through the pages, crisp and worn between his fingers. He’d read it too many times to count, lost in the pages and the words, thinking of earlier days. 

If only Alfred knew. 

“Perhaps rest would be better than reading, before the ball,” he said, keeping his tone friendly. He handed the book back to Alfred, who reached out with a shaking hand to take it. 

“I… I should go find the Professor.” He said, backing away slowly, still not looking away. Herbert almost smiled. 

“Alfred,” he said. “You have nothing to fear, in this house.”

That made the boy stop short. He looked scared, but there was a glint in his eyes now that Herbert _remembered_ , and it made his heart soar. 

“All due respect, I don’t think that’s quite true,” he said, and then, as if suddenly realising his own words, he turned tail and fled the room, still clutching the book of poetry tightly to him. 

 

 

 

 


	5. Part Five

 

 

Herbert was dreaming of Alfred. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he tended to cling to the happiness in the dream as much as he shoved away the hurt once he awoke. 

Usually, it was only nightmares he got. So when there was a dream, his mind relaxed and welcomed it, even if he full well knew what would happen when the dream was over. 

This dream wasn’t quite over, however, and Alfred was laughing, lying on top of him and looking happy and alive, and oh, Herbert could stay lost like this forever. 

“I love you,” Alfred said, leaning down and kissing him. Herbert wanted to return the sentiment, but found his mouth otherwise occupied. 

He would have time to tell him later. 

*

For once, Alfred didn’t dream in the night. It was not pleasant: he thinks he would have almost preferred a nightmare, to this dull, listless silence. There is just an empty space in his head, and his entire body aches. 

There are hushed voices all around him as he slips in and out of consciousness, and he thinks he might have a fever: he feels like it, his whole body burning. Someone whispers to him, soothing, and isn’t that nice. He’s never had that before, never had anyone that cared more than to just keep him alive, because it doesn’t look good to let children at the orphanage just die, and the Professor needed him…

This voice is familiar and it calms him. He thinks the person speaking sounds worried, but if he has a high fever, well, then that’s alright. Alfred doesn’t mean to make anyone worry, but now there’s something cold running over his brow and it chases away the headache and the tremors, just for a moment. 

And then he dreams again. Of the ball, of rooms full of vampires, of the Professor chasing forward, and Alfred getting in the way trying to save him. He _remembers_ , remembers the Count reaching out and plucking him aside like he was some stray kitten, and Sarah with the blood gushing out from her neck. 

He remembers snow and pain, and he remembers… 

No, Alfred doesn’t remember anymore than that. The next pictures are vivid and violent, and they shake him to the very core in a way he doesn’t understand. It isn’t just sharp fangs, it’s the very life being drained from him, and all he can think is that he has done this before. He has been through this before. His mind is a fever-running mess, and when he opens them he sees Herbert, younger and alive, smiling down at him and saying something in a language that he knows but can’t quite grasp, as if the words have shifted and changed while he was away in his little dreamland. 

Herbert’s fingers are warm when he brushes them over Alfred’s cheek, through his hair and down his neck, and it’s odd, to see him so human, to recall that once he had to have been, before he was turned like his father, made into an unholy creature that preyed on the kind and the innocent in turn. In his fever, he thinks he isn’t so innocent, but his brain is muddled and jumbled, and when he opens his eyes again, Herbert is gone. 

The Count is there though, lighting a candle in the dull evening, chasing away the darkness a bit so that Alfred can see. It takes a little while for his brain to sort through the jumble of everything, but when it does, he remembers the ball and he remembers Sarah’s transformation in the snow. 

He reaches out, his arm worryingly weak after his illness, and relief floods through him when he feels his pulse beat, steady and sure, beneath his fingers. 

“Feeling better?” the Count almost scares his wits from him completely, but of course he’d noticed that Alfred was awake: he nods, too terrified and sore and aching to speak. The Count doesn’t look like he is about to eat him, and it makes little sense for them to bring him back to the castle – because that’s where he is, judging by the interior design of the room he’s been currently housed in – and nurse him back to health, only to kill him again. At least, that’s what Alfred tries to tell himself as he struggles for some sort of coherency in all of this. 

“Good,” is the Count’s only reply to that, putting the matches he had been using down on the bedside table. The candles leave a calm warmness in the room that Alfred finds himself pathetically grateful for. “Herbert will be very pleased. He’s been fussing like a mother-hen ever since we got you back.”

That is a bit too much information at once, but through the reeling of Alfred’s brain, he managed to cling to something. “How long have I been out?”

His voice sounded scratchy and small, and not like his own at all, but it doesn’t seem to face the Count. 

“Four nights. You did not seem like you were going to make it through at first, but around yesterday, Magda assured us the course of your fever was quite normal, and that you seemed to be stabilizing a few hours after that. The rest was seemingly your body needing to… well, rest.” He smiled at Alfred then, as if he had said something extremely amusing, but it only served to be extremely unnerving. Alfred didn’t know where to look. Hadn’t he just been fighting this man, and his entire household, kidnapping their so-called guest of honour and cursing them five ways to hell?

And then they had, apparently, saved him. 

It made absolutely no sense to him. 

“I believe that there are a few things that Herbert wishes to speak with you about,” the Count went on, as if the silence hadn’t stretched thin and awkward between them. “But before he has his say, I would like mine as well: you are welcome in this domain, Alfred, provided that you follow the rules, of course. Far more welcome than you think. And you need not fear any harm from _any_ of the inhabitants here, provided you do not do harm to them. This extends to everyone.”

Alfred could only stare. Herbert had said something similar, he thought, but it still made as much sense now as it had back then. Which was none at all. 

“I don’t understand,” he said, hesitating because he was afraid of making the Count angry, and losing whatever leeway he had suddenly seemed to gain, by means that baffled him. 

“I will leave Herbert to explain,” the Count said, a fond smile splaying on his lips. “Here he comes.”

Just as the words left his mouth, the door to the chambers were thrown open, and Herbert walked in, at a surprisingly sedate pace considering the treatment of the doors. 

That was, until he saw Alfred. 

*

Herbert had been away from Alfred’s bedside for twenty minutes, and Father had even offered to stay and watch over him, but he already felt jittery and uncomfortable. What if something happened? Magda had assured him that Alfred’s fever seemed to be blowing over, but human’s health were so unpredictable: they could be fine one day, and then just drop to the floor the next, and Herbert had never been this anxious before, but Alfred was just lying there, burning like a furnace, and he wouldn’t wake up, not when Herbert teased him, or yelled at him, or held his hand as tight as he could, pleading for him to wake up. By the third night, the candles had started to blur in his vision, and he told himself it was tiredness, and ignored the tears that had fallen on the sheets and on the soft skin of Alfred’s arm. 

And now he was finally getting better, and Father had convinced – well, more like ordered – him to get some rest for himself. But Herbert just couldn’t do it. He could not put name to what kind of terrible ill could befall Alfred in his absence, nor could he say what difference his being there would do, but at least… at least he would be with him, when it happened.

So, quite ready to argue with Father to the best of his abilities (and his abilities were _astoundingly_ good in that area), he marched back and threw the doors to the room open, only for his eyes to fall upon the most beautiful sight.

“You’re _awake_!” he yelled, clearly startling Alfred, and flung himself forward, only just stopping at the edge of the bed when he realised that throwing himself on an ill person possibly wasn’t the best idea for said person’s continuing health, nor would Alfred appreciate it, ill and possibly scared as he was. 

“I will leave you two to it,” Father said, thank-fully not reminding Herbert yet again that he needed to speak with Alfred about… certain things. He had been bringing that up a lot lately, both, Herbert thought, to distract him from Alfred’s illness, and to urge him into some kind of sense. 

The door closed behind him, and Herbert seated himself on the edge of the bed, far enough away from Alfred that the boy hopefully wouldn’t feel cornered. Herbert could feel relief course through his body, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug Alfred tightly to him, but the boy was eyeing him like he expected the worst, so that probably wasn’t a very good idea at all. 

“I am so very happy to see you’re better,” he said, not able to keep the smile off his face. It seemed to mollify Alfred a little bit, and he even let Herbert reach out and stack the pillows up behind him, so that he was sitting instead of just lying down. When he moved, however, a horrible cough wracked through his body, and he had to bend over, gasping for air. Herbert gritted his teeth and resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t do anything to make Alfred feel better right now, and waited until it had blown over. 

“Do you need anything?” he asked, hand hovering awkwardly over his shoulder, afraid to touch. “Some water?”

Alfred stared at him, speechless for a moment. “W-water, please,” he finally said, and Herbert was more than happy to oblige. 

Alfred regained a little of the colour in his cheeks by the time he’d downed the third glass, and he handed the empty tumbler back to Herbert with a grateful sigh. “Thank you,” he said, and Herbert tried his best not to get too excited about such a small thing. 

Tried to. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, sitting down again, a little closer this time. Alfred didn’t seem to notice. “Now,” he continued, folding his hands in his lap and twining his fingers together, because he was already feeling restless. “I suppose you have a few… questions.”

The young boy hesitated, obviously conflicted. Oh, but it was cute, or it would be if Herbert didn’t feel so worried about this too, if he wasn’t tearing up inside. 

“Why am I here?” he finally settled on, and Herbert sighed. _Oh, Alfred._

“When Sarah attacked you, she did not manage to… turn you,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “The venom in your blood almost killed you. It would have killed you, had we not found you in time.” _It almost did kill you. I almost had to watch you die. Again._

The thought was too much to bear, and Herbert firmly pushed it away again. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Alfred said then, his cheek flush with… was it anger? Oh. Well, it was a step up from terror, at least. “Why am I here? I tried to… I tried to kill you. That sounds wrong because you’re already _dead_ ,” he spat the last words out, and Herbert, to his own credit, did not flinch. “And I… well I quite ruined your party. But you… ever since I got here…”

“Alfred,” Herbert interrupted him, doing his best to be patient. Oh, but why couldn’t Alfred just _remember?_ It was startlingly unfair. “I am going to take pity on you now, and explain, because you cannot fully grasp… you won’t be able to ask the right questions, until I have laid some facts out for you.”

The look on Alfred’s face was almost calm now, or at least resigned. “Alright,” he said. “Explain it to me, then.”

Herbert looked away, searching for the words. “Do you have… certain dreams?” he asked then, glancing out of the corner of his eye. _Oh_ , he thought, when he saw the expression on Alfred’s face. _I hit the mark_. 

“What kind of dreams are you thinking of?” the boy asked, still suspicious. 

“As if they are memories. Clear and vivid when you have them, and disappearing like grains of sand between your fingers when you wake up.”

Alfred stared at him. “All the time. Since I… for as long as I can remember.” He seemed uncomfortable sharing this with someone else, as if he had never done that before, but Herbert could feel pure giddiness rising inside of him. 

“Few things are ever completely forgotten,” he said. “What you’re experiencing aren’t dreams, they’re memories.”

“What? That’s impossible!” 

“Oh, darling, a lot of things are, that doesn’t mean they don’t happen on a daily basis anyway.” He’d thought the Professor would have taught Alfred that much at least, but it seemed the man was useless in all aspects. Good thing they’d gotten rid of him, if he was to be completely honest with himself. He reached out, gently taking Alfred’s hand and turning it so the palm was facing up, his wrist exposed by the thin night-shirt he was wearing. “If you would let me, I can show you.”

Alfred looked scared again. “Show me?”

“It will only hurt a little,” Herbert promised, because small and weak as Alfred was right now, Herbert couldn’t have done anything that would potentially worsen his condition: he couldn’t even stand the thought of it. “And I promise,” he added, with a smile. “That I won’t bite.”

“Really,” Alfred said, a dry tone to his voice that made Herbert want to clap and rejoice, because he _knew_ that tone of voice, had been on the receiving end of it too many times to count. “I… you say memories. But memories from… from where? I don’t understand.”

“It really would be easier for me to just show you,” Herbert said, but Alfred only glared at him and didn’t give him permission to proceed with that, so he sighed and gathered his words to him again. “You have been… reincarnated, I think is the word most commonly used for what’s happened here,” he said, and it was clear that Alfred knew what he was talking about, but it still seemed to only confuse him even more. “In your previous life – bear with me here – you and I… knew each other.”

“We knew each other?” Alfred echoed, bewilderment on his face. At least, Herbert thought, he was so confused know there was no room to be afraid. 

“Yes. It was back when I was still human. We spent a good part of our adolescence together. We were friends. We were… intimate.” 

To his great relief, Alfred did not pull away in disgust at the mere thought, but he did look like he was reeling slightly. Which was only fair, Herbert gently told himself, pushing down on the impatience and frustration. It was a lot to take in. 

“And you… can show me?”

“I can prove it,” Herbert said, running his finger over the pulse at Alfred’s wrist. “Your memories are layered inside of you. I couldn’t quite… reach them earlier, but I do believe there’s another way.”

Alfred did not ask how Herbert had tried to ‘reach’ his memories earlier, and Herbert was grateful: that was another can of worms they’d have to deal with sooner or later, but he’d prefer it to be later, cowardly as that sounded. Besides, he didn’t think Alfred was quite ready to deal with that on top of everything else just yet. 

“Do it,” he said then, so fast it took Herbert a moment to register, and then the boy shut his eyes tight, as if waiting for a blow. 

It didn’t happen. Herbert pressed his thumb against the skin right below Alfred’s pulse-point, digging in the nail. Blood welled, sweet and pure Alfred, and it made his mouth water: but _that_ wasn’t what he was doing right now. He merely watched as the blood slid down Alfred’s arm, ending in the crook of his elbow, hesitating there as if it wasn’t quite sure which direction to take. 

When the first drop hit the sheets beneath them, Alfred gasped, jerking as if suddenly feeling the pain, his eyes fluttering open. He didn’t see Herbert, however, staring right through him as if he was a ghost, and then…

And then he screamed. 

“Alfred…” Herbert let go of his arm immediately, and then reached for it again, because he was unsure how deep exactly the wound he’d made was, would Alfred need him to patch it up, what if it got infected - but the young boy moved back, faster than he should be able to in his state, drawing his knees up to him and burying his face in his hands. 

“ _Get away from me!”_

“I…”

_“Go!”_

Herbert stood up as if Alfred had physically shoved him, and walked out, fear and anger at himself beating like a steady drum inside of him. It was almost too much to walk away when the quiet sounds of Alfred’s crying filled the air, but he forced himself to. 

He would not… impose, if he was so unwanted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will have you all know that this chapter was originally much, much sadder, and then I woke up at six am today and rewrote the entire thing into this instead, because I didn't like the execution of the other thing. So. Don't kill me. Yet.


	6. Part Six

****

**_Part Six_ **

****

It took Alfred a while to calm down, but finally his brain stopped screaming at him and his heart stopped pounding too loud in his chest. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. One moment, Herbert had been drawing his blood and the next he’d… 

The next moment his head had been filled with intense, white noise and he had remembered dying all over again. 

That was _all_ Alfred remembered. After the intensity of it, he had trouble doubting what Herbert had said, because he certainly couldn’t remember _that_ ever happening to him. Not even Sarah’s embrace in the snow had been so violent, so frightening. It had not come as close to the life draining from him, flowing out through his neck in a steady stream, his assailant not caring if he hurt him or not. His dreams had never been like that. His dreams had been soft and comforting, and filled with laughter and… and love. 

_‘We were intimate_ ’ _,_ Herbert’s words floated back to him, and it did not help his panic one bit. Herbert’s interest in him was clear, but he was also a centuries old, bored vampire, ready to jump on the first bit of meat that came his way. At first Alfred had only thought it was a nice snack he had been looking for (and wasn’t that thought in itself just horrifying), but apparently, that wasn’t just it. And it wasn’t just… other things, either. Herbert had, according to the Count, been sitting by his bedside throughout his entire illness, and he hadn’t left until Alfred had shouted at him to leave. He had, Alfred thought, been nothing but kind to him ever since he got back here, and even… even perhaps before then. 

_They kidnapped Sarah_ , he reminded himself. _They are vampires. They are monsters._

But so was Sarah now. And Sarah had almost killed him – neither the Count, nor his son had done any such harm to him. 

There was another part that made Alfred hesitate in engaging his previous conceptions of his hosts: he could see the man – and it was a man – in his dreams clearly now. He could see _Herbert_ clearly, drawn in ink and oil and smiling at him like he carried the stars in his eyes. _We were intimate._

What _kind_ of intimate? Alfred leaned back against the bed and buried his face in his pillows. Oh, but this was driving him to the brink, but at least it was taking his thoughts off the horrible, awful pain in his head. He could feel himself calm down, slowly, though the anxiety still boiled along his nerve-endings, not quite ready to stop expanding and leave him alone. 

Apparently, Herbert had not been lying or making up an elaborate falsehood in order to torment Alfred, not unless his powers extended far beyond what made him comfortable, and he wasn’t some delusional wild thing that truly believed some stranger to be his long-lost love. No, it was nothing as kind as that. Herbert had been telling him the truth – they had met, centuries ago, when Herbert was still human, and then Alfred had been killed. 

He had been killed. 

He slapped his hand against his necks, fingers digging into the soft skin there. He had been _killed_ , drained of blood, and a horrible, awful thought was settling deep inside of him. 

Weak as a kitten, but determined, he slowly got up, wrapping the blankets around him and walking over to the door. 

*

Herbert could hear Alfred rustling in the sheets on the other side of the door, and the quiet sound of his breathing was the only thing keeping him going. 

How could he have been such a fool? He had tried to spare himself the tryings and grief of explaining the impossible to someone refusing to believe it, and had simply gone for the easy option. _I can show you_. How about, I can traumatise you for life and roll around in the ashes afterwards. Oh, he couldn’t _believe_ that he had hurt Alfred like that, and after _promising_ him that he wouldn’t, swearing it to himself. Was this punishment for almost letting Alfred die again? For not getting to him sooner, for watching the life drain from him and feeling triumphant that this time, this time he could get him away in time?

Or perhaps, Alfred remembered full and well now, and hated Herbert. It would serve him right: if Herbert had never come into his life, Alfred would have never… he would have been safe. And probably lived a long, happy life, back when he should. He would have never known a short, violent end like that, and he would have never had to be born again, only to meet more death and destruction. 

If there was anyone in the world that deserved such a thing less than Alfred, Herbert had yet to meet them. 

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the pitter-patter of feet against the floor, until the door he was leaning against suddenly opened, and he almost toppled over. 

Alfred peered down at him from above, clearly surprised to see him there. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, confused as a fish out of water. Herbert quickly stood up, straightening his rumpled clothes. He only just refrained from running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t been lying down, it couldn’t be _too_ bad. 

“Sitting,” he said daintily, as if that wasn’t obvious. 

“Were you…”

“I wasn’t…” Herbert realised how it must have looked. “I did not want to intrude, but you have been very ill, and I only wished to… that being said, what are you doing out of bed?!” Yes, Alfred was still wrapped in a blanket, but his feet were bare for god’s sake! The floor had to be cold. Humans died from that sort of thing! “Would you get back in bed!” he only just refrained from yelling, though he clearly startled him anyway, and then even more when he, acting completely on instinct, picked him up and carried him back, placing him gently back on the sheets. 

“Honestly,” he said, feelings his concern flood over in irritation. “We’ve done quite a lot to make sure you pulled through, and you repay us by not even dressing properly for a walk about the rooms. I thought your manners where better.”

Alfred, when he blushed, made Herbert feel like he was alive again. 

“I-I-I apologise,” he stammered out, flushing like Herbert had just rattled of a particularly rancy limerick. “I… I didn’t mean… I was only….” He trailed off, casting his eyes about, as if searching for something. Herbert frowned.

“Did you need anything? More water? A cup of tea? We have mulled wine, and there is medicine in the cabinet, though you might be able to administrate it better yourself… are you hungry? We only managed to get a little in you, but we can…”

“I’m fine,” Alfred gently interrupted him, looking like he was having trouble keeping up. He still looked so pale and small, weak from his fever, and it made Herbert want to wrap several blankets and maybe also himself around him, and not let go until he was better. 

Not let go _ever_ preferably, but. He would take what he could get. 

“Are you certain?” he asked. 

“I don’t think I could hold anything much down right now,” Alfred said then, making a face at the thought. “But I will… maybe later.”

“Good. That’s good. You should eat.” Unwillingly, his eyes flew to the now-dried out blood along Alfred’s arm. “And… I should get you cleaned up.” He leaned over, getting the cloth that was still on the bedside table, wetting it and gently picking up Alfred’s arm. The wound he’d made wasn’t deep or big, and it had already stopped bleeding, though it started again when he gently smoothed the cloth over it, filling the air with its warm, heady scent. Alfred drew in a sharp breath in the same rhythm as Herbert, and his eyes flickered upwards again, locking with the boys. 

Alfred looked terrified. He looked like he expected Herbert to leap forward, go for the throat, right this very second. And why shouldn’t he think that? Twice, Alfred had been attacked by vampires now, once ending in his death and another almost as close. It was a miracle that he hadn’t run screaming away already. 

Herbert wanted, no, he _needed_ to get that expression off his face. There was only one way he could think off, and kissing Alfred right now would most certainly not work. But… perhaps there was another way. 

“You know,” he said, pulling his wrist a little closer. “If I lick this, it will heal quicker.”

Alfred looked astonished. “What?”

“Vampires are a bit like overgrown cats,” he remarked, thinking of how Father had explained it to him, hundreds of years ago. “It will take away the pain too, for a cut this small. If you would allow me?”

Oh, if only he would. Suddenly Herbert wanted nothing more than to chase those droplets with his mouth, lick up the remaining taste of Alfred’s skin, but… he wouldn’t. Not without permission.

“I promise,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I will not bite.”

Alfred, with only the slightest of hesitations – a triumph, if ever there was one – nodded. 

Herbert leaned down with a smile that was only as satisfied as he let it be, his fangs already coming out despite his promise not to bite: he wasn’t going to, either, and the feel of them against his wrist made Alfred shudder. 

All of that faded away when the taste of his blood exploded in Herbert’s mouth, and he found himself clinging to Alfred’s arm as it filled him, such meagre drops yet enough to make him want to swear off the finest samplings for the rest of eternity. 

And then Alfred pulled back, drawing his arm to him as if it was a lifeline, his eyes wide and scared, and oh, no, but Herbert was sure he hadn’t bitten down, he was _certain_ , but still, he had made Alfred look like that, and he could hardly process what was happening, his head reeling still, from the taste and the warmth now flooding his veins. 

“Did you kill me?” Alfred asked, and Herbert stared, unable to process even a single bit of the sentence that had just spilled from his lover’s mouth. 

“W-what?” He was stuttering now, even, and his mind was screaming at him to wake up, get a grip, but he simply could not. “A-Alfred…”

“You said,” the boy sounded terrified, but he lifted his chin and his eyes flashed as he looked at the vampire before him. “You said that we knew each other… when you were still human. I was killed by a _vampire_. Was it you?”

“Was it…” 

“Sarah couldn’t control herself,” his voice trembled when he spoke her name, and Herbert had never hated anyone so much in his life. “She was new and she… she needed blood and she… did that happen to _you_?” he spat it out, like a curse, like Herbert was the very devil come up to taunt him. It shot through him like an arrow in the heart, and he felt furious. 

“But Sarah was unable to control herself, of course,” he said, voice dangerously calm. Alfred frowned. 

“What…”

“Because Sarah, that poor girl, was merely a victim. Oh, poor Sarah, dragged to the castle and turned against her will.”

“I… I didn’t…”

“She doesn’t love you, Alfred,” the words felt freeing, and Herbert ignored his mind, now screaming for him to stop. “She was _using you_ , for her own means and for a pretty little taste, a morsel, if you will.”

Alfred’s eyes were dark and his face bore an expression of terror. “That’s… that’s not true.” He said, but then his face crumbled, and it was clear, startlingly clear that he did not believe it himself. “She…”

Herbert felt wretched as he realised what he had done. Alfred had turned his face to the side, his eyes clear and glassy, his jaw set as if he was fighting back tears. It was an expression that Herbert, to his great regret, had seen before, and suddenly he very much could find a person that he loathed more than Sarah Chagal.

“Alfred…” he reached for him, but stopped himself midway, knowing the touch would not be welcome. 

“She left me,” he said. “She left me to die. The Professor did too.” He turned his face again, staring at Herbert with a strange kind of determination in his eyes. “Did you kill me?” he asked again, voice steady. 

“No,” Herbert said. “I didn’t. It was… the vampire that turned my father. I will… tell you, if you like.”

Alfred looked down at his hands. “Maybe… not at this moment.”

“No. Not right now. But later,” he moved to get up. “I will… leave you alone. I will be right next door, if you need anything…”

“Could you stay?” the words spilled from Alfred’s lips so fast they seemed to surprise even him, but then his face crumbled again and he reached out, grasping Herbert’s wrist lightly. The touch sent a shock of electricity up his arm, mingling with the warmth from Alfred’s blood in his veins. 

“Yes,” he said, sitting back down immediately, shifting closer. “Yes, of course.” _Anything. Anything you ask of me._

Alfred, to his great surprise and delight, leaned forward, curling into his arms. It took some manoeuvring, but Herbert managed to seat them so that he was sitting against the headboard too, splayed over the bed, Alfred’s head resting above his still, unbeating heart. Herbert laid perfectly still, afraid that the slightest move might make Alfred change his mind, but the boy only clung to him as he slipped in and out of an uneasy sleep, as if he was the last lifeline he had. 

Herbert felt wretched for his gratitude at that, but at least, he thought, at least Alfred was here now. 

Hopefully, in the evening, things would look a little better. 


	7. Part Seven

****

**_Part Seven_ **

****

_“No,” the Professor’s eyes had been a glaring light behind his glasses. “I do_ not _require an assistant.”_

_Alfred swallowed back his panic, his anxiety, carefully selecting his words before speaking. “With all due respect,” he said. “The university requires you to have one if you are to travel while doing your research.”_

_Now there was a true storm in the other man’s eyes. “The university no longer pays my bills for me,” was all he said, dismissive like this was the end of the conversation. Every cell in Alfred’s body was telling him to go up and leave, telling him that his superior had ended the conversation and there was nothing more he could do._

_He clenched his fists under the table and took a deep breath. “Professor,” he said, not letting himself hesitate. “You might need someone to carry your bags for you.”_

_That was clearly not what the man had expected: he looked taken aback, and Alfred thought that now he had truly crossed a line, but then a look of curiosity came upon his face._

_“Why do you wish to go with me so badly? It will be dangerous.”_

_Alfred opened his mouth, closed it again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He had prepared an answer from home. He had known this question would be asked. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what he had been wanting to say._

_“Because,” he felt like the words were wrenched from him. “Because I feel like I have to.”_

_*_

Alfred woke because his arm had started hurting again, but he could not say that he minded: it dragged him out of a nightmare that had started to insistently dig its claws into him. He still felt unsettled, trapped as he woke.

He realised it was because someone had their arm around him, pressing him back against their chest, and for just a moment, Alfred thought his nightmare had merely shifted into a dream. This was familiar, and pleasant, and comforting, and he shut his eyes again, willing the person ( _Herbert, it was Herbert, it had always been Herbert)_ behind him to lean over and kiss his forehead, touch his shoulder, get his attention and smile like it was the best thing when he had it.

But the person behind him was oddly still, their chest not rising, no breath hitting Alfred’s hair and skin. For a moment, just a moment, Alfred thought he might as well have just been embraced by a corpse, but then Herbert shifted a little, his hand curling in the sheets next to Alfred, and the relief that coursed through him was tangible in its intensity.

He had not fully realised, until now, how much Herbert’s… situation, unnerved him. Herbert was a vampire. An undead creature. A _monster._

And here the monster was, holding him tightly, yet carefully. Here, the monster had been nothing but considerate and careful with him, because he…

Because he loved him. Alfred’s memories were still jumbled and confused, and he dare not look, because everything was a flood of flames and fangs ripping out his throat, and he was too scared to look at it for too long: but the dreams had been of Herbert, so strong that he had remembered, partly, even when he hadn’t _remembered_ , and that knowledge made his breath stutter in his chest.

He couldn’t get ahead of himself: Alfred’s memories were a dull haze and for all he knew, Herbert was only glad to see an old friend again. Perhaps someone that reminded him of his human life was what the vampire needed, and no more than that. He was simply being friendly. Alfred would not get his hopes up.

_Get your hopes up for_ what _, exactly?_ a voice in his mind slithered through, and Alfred frowned. His chest still felt like ice after the nightmare, and now a shiver was running down his spine as well. The arm around him tightened briefly, and Alfred almost gasped out loud in surprise, only just catching himself. It wouldn’t do to wake Herbert, he reminded himself. Herbert had been so kind to him, and he wouldn’t interrupt his sleep. That would be rude.

It was already too late however: Herbert was stirring behind him, tightening his grip again as he woke slowly. He mumbled something too quiet for Alfred to hear, and somehow leaned even closer, a feat Alfred hadn’t thought possible. Alfred could feel a blush rising when the vampire’s breath hit the back of his neck, appearing content to simply stay in this embrace. His heart gave a small jolt when Herbert’s hand tightened in his shirt, and then they both stilled, as if caught unawares at exactly the same moment. Herbert’s grip loosened, and he slowly pulled away.

“Are you awake?” Herbert asked, his voice low as if afraid to startle Alfred. It was too late for that: he nodded, slowly, very much aware of the body surrounding him, of _Herbert’s_ body surrounding him, the bed dipping where their weight landed on it. His mouth was dry and his throat was burning, though he wasn’t sure if it was for water or something different. Herbert reached up, slowly and steadily, and brushed his hand across Alfred’s cheek. “You’re warm.”

“I feel fine,” he hastened to say, recognising the concern in the vampire’s voice. What an odd thing: to have a monster concerned about him. He suddenly wanted to pull away, feeling vulnerable here in the bed, but there was nowhere to go. “I-I feel… much better.”

Herbert’s smile was quite brilliant. “That’s good.” He stopped again, looking down at Alfred with a look that he could not decipher had he been given infinity to study it: but he felt warm, just like Herbert had said.

And then he leaned down and kissed him.

*

Herbert felt dizzy. He wasn’t quite sure from what; all he knew was that he had awoken and Alfred had been in his arms and it had been _perfect_. For a moment, just a moment, he had not been lucid enough to realise that years had gone by, that Alfred had been violently killed, that the boy here now was not in love with him, and had not woken countless times like this. Alfred had looked contemplative, pensive, and his heart had shuddered at a rhythm that Herbert could not decipher, because he had not clung to his memories of having a heartbeat: all he had left of that time was the feel of soft hair between his fingers and a warm body moving against his own.

Alfred was just as warm now, if not warmer in contrast to himself,                       warm from the fever and warm from his sleep, and he was soft and pliant under him, the feel of him exactly like Herbert had dreamed. Alfred let out a whimper, a low sound that made something rip open in Herbert’s chest, made him grasp a tight hold of the boy, bunching his shirt up in his fists, searching for warm skin underneath. Alfred’s heartbeat was a drum in his ears, and his grip on Herbert’s shoulders was weak, clinging like he was going to fall any minute. He would often wind his arms around Herbert’s neck, pulling him as close as Herbert was trying to pull him, but his hands remained where they were, trembling slightly.

Herbert pulled away with a start, feeling like he was truly waking up now: Alfred let him go, as easily as nothing, staring up at him with wide eyes. The silence between them seemed to stretch out before him like a gaping cataclysm.

“So,” Alfred finally said. “Do you kiss all of your houseguests, or is it just the fever-addled ones?”

He laughed, trying to swallow past the feeling of regret and discontent. “I have been trying to tell you that you’re special.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say: Alfred’s face closed up again, like a book snapping shut, although the hurt on the cover was still very visible. Herbert wanted to soothe him, but instead he moved away, not wishing to make a repeat of what had just transpired – or rather, he very much did wish so, but he wasn’t sure if it was the best course of action right now.

Oh, Father would be so proud with his newfound patience. It was driving Herbert to the brink, but Alfred looked more relaxed as soon as he had a bit more space, and it, in turn, made Herbert relax too.

“I am sure you still have questions,” he said. “But I can also imagine that you must be hungry by now. And I do not know enough about human medical procedure to be sure of your condition, and I hope you will forgive me if I do not take your word for it: as far as I know, you might be worse off than you feel.”

“Possibly,” Alfred muttered, looking miserable. “I…”

“I will call in Magda,” he interrupted, needing to get out of there lest he was sure he would kiss Alfred again. Or at least, have some kind of chaperone. Magda would _love_ the title, he was sure.

To absolutely no-one’s surprise, Magda was hovering outside the door, looking bored, but happy to see him as he opened.

“Is he awake?” she asked, pushing her way past Herbert without even a proper greeting. He felt very overlooked, and it didn’t help that she couldn’t see his pout with her back turned, already walking over to the bed.

Alfred looked positively terrified, and Magda’s huge smile didn’t seem to help.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, and when Alfred stuttered out a soft and shaking ‘f-f-fine’, her smile turned even wider before she promptly slapped him on the head with the palm of her hand.

“Ouch!” he yelped, annoyed enough to glare at her and forgetting his fright. Herbert held back his laugh. “What in the world…”

“That was for almost bleeding to death in the snow. Who does that? Fools, Alfred. Fools.”

“My apologies,” he mumbled, still rubbing his head, though he looked properly chastised now. “I did not mean to…”

“Of course you didn’t,” Magda interrupted. “People seldom do. Now,” she continued, not giving anyone pause to breathe or think. “Let the nurse check up on you.”

Alfred, yet again, looked terrified.


End file.
